


TINSTAAFL (There Is No Such Thing As A Free Lunch)

by MJ (mjr91)



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Meetings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2019-01-06 18:34:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12216537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mjr91/pseuds/MJ
Summary: Rafael Barba, like most lawyers, has his vices.  Like many lawyers, that means having an escort agency number or two in his cell phone.Or, yet another alternative first meeting AU.





	TINSTAAFL (There Is No Such Thing As A Free Lunch)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AHumanFemale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AHumanFemale/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Barisi Bedtime Stories](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12169491) by [AHumanFemale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AHumanFemale/pseuds/AHumanFemale). 
  * Inspired by [Barisi Bedtime Stories](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12169491) by [AHumanFemale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AHumanFemale/pseuds/AHumanFemale). 



> AHumanFemale's Barisi Bedtime Stories contained one that made me say "haven't I used a 'one of the pair is in sex work' AU trope in half my fandoms, and why didn't I think of it already here?" Then I had to come up with a plot that wouldn't be embarrassing next to her brilliance.
> 
> There are some comments here that may seem unflattering to either the legal profession or to police. Disclaimer: I've done criminal litigation IRL including defending escorts. There's not much in this story I haven't seen or heard myself or from other attorneys. The major plot device isn't from experience and the two characters obviously aren't from experience. Everything else? Borrowed directly from my day job.

 

The name of the business and the phone number had been scrawled on a slip from a memo pad.  It was a good thing that the office didn’t check employee web surfing too carefully – though really, in his job, looking up a page with male escorts on it was arguably perfectly justifiable, one of the few perks that it really had besides excellent health insurance and a title that frequently got decent seats in restaurants and often-discounted tickets to allegedly full events.  If he hadn’t made much better money before he’d taken this job – and his migraines sometimes made him wonder why he had – he wouldn’t have been able to afford to have evenings like this occasionally.

For Rafael Barba, stress reduction in order to avoid more migraines than he absolutely had to suffer as part of the district attorney’s office meant occasionally booking a couple of nights in his favorite hotel in midtown, booking an escort for the evening and also booking the hotel spa for the next day, and lounging about in high-threadcount sheets, huge tubs, and thick terrycloth robes that someone else would wash later.  Dinner?  Room service if he felt like it – he never stayed anywhere he couldn’t get room service – or something close to the hotel that wasn’t too tourist-laden but where he wasn’t likely to run into people he knew.  Dining alone, though pleasant, was ill-rewarded when people you knew found you; dining with an escort sometimes required a fast explanation, though it wasn’t really that bad.

Barba wasn’t the only professional he knew with a fondness for booking escorts.  It saved having to meet people, it saved having to date someone regularly, it saved having to deal with relationship  complications – an escort was paid for the privilege of having them leave after sex if you wanted them to go.  Unlike some of the closeted gay professionals he knew, who called escorts because it was easier than coming out and meeting men, Rafael Barba just put enough time and effort into his work – far too much, some people said -- to not feel like putting the time into generating a relationship.  On the other hand, hanging out in clubs to meet someone just to take home for the night was simply annoying.  Escorting was, all told, a more honest and more efficient deal in his book than looking for hookups.  He wouldn’t be the first district attorney on earth to do it, and he wouldn’t be the last, and it was an ADA from Queens who’d tipped him off to the quality goods that this particular agency provided.

He counted himself lucky, he thought as he checked into his favorite hotel on 58th, down from Central Park, that he’d called the agency early that day.  Their listed new guy, Tony, had to be a hot item.  He was tall, good-looking, full-lipped in a way that promised total sin, and at least in the suit they featured him in, his ass didn’t quit for a mile.  It was too bad the hotel didn’t have room service sushi, because he’d happily eat maki for dinner off of the body that guy had to have under that jacket and tie; it certainly wasn’t all shoulder padding and tailoring making promises that went straight to his groin as he thought about the subject.

He’d hung up his jacket, removed his cufflinks, rolled up his sleeves, and had made himself comfortable with a glass of Glenmorangie when the knock came at the hotel room door.  A glance through the door’s peephole confirmed that the visitor was Tony, perhaps – no, certainly – even better-looking than the agency’s website indicated.  He opened the door, satisfied so far.  Prompt, well-dressed in a suit as in the photo, as Barba had requested, looking thoroughly businesslike, someone that the hotel staff wouldn’t notice except to say “how is anyone that unreasonably attractive naturally?”  He’d used a few other agencies off and on, but Manhattan Men was living up to its claims right off the bat, more than he could say about more than one of the others.  “You’re Tony?”

“Yep.”  He was Tony and he was definitely a New York boy.  Thank God.  Some guys liked the corn-fed Midwestern types that came to New York for college and made their beer money on escorting a couple of nights a week, but Barba liked his escorts over college age, urban, and urbane.  Tony, whatever his real name was, definitely fit the first two requirements, and the third didn’t matter if they wound up getting too busy to talk.  “You’re Mr. Cortes?”

“Felipe.”  It was the usual game.  Neither side used their real names, even if it was easy enough to check a client’s credit card.  Barba kept the same code name on file with each of the agencies he used.  It helped with screening – agencies liked to check, for security, on whether there were references for clients.  Of course it was to screen out vice cops, but even more, it was to protect the escorts.  Being able to afford a call girl or a rent boy didn’t mean you weren’t an abusive jerk, and Barba had prosecuted more than a couple of johns who’d beaten up women they’d hired.  And men weren’t exactly immune to non-consensual violence either.

“Of course.  Listen, Felipe,” Tony said, smiling, and if anything should be illegal, that smile was it, because Barba could die for that half-a-grin on Tony’s face right then and there, “I have some good news for you.  When we screened you, we got an employment confirmation on you… and let’s just say that tonight’s on the house.”

“You’re shitting, right?”  The agency was ungodly expensive, but Dave Andrews had sworn they were worth it.  “Scotch?”

“Yeah, please, if you got ice.”  Barba had; he didn’t bother with ice himself, but he’d gotten it anyway, because you never knew.  “And yeah.  We got back that you do criminal law.  Trust me, we want to keep you happy.”  Tony shrugged out of his jacket, which was making Barba very happy indeed. 

Tony’s mouth, it seemed, could do almost anything.  It made drinking Scotch look singularly sexy, especially when his tongue went after a drip on the side of the glass.  It talked – fairly intelligently at times, and nearly as sarcastically as Barba’s infamous mouth, the one that had made him a target as a teenager. Before Tony left, considerably later than Barba had thought he’d keep his guest there – but free was a very desirable hourly rate for the services provided, after all – Barba had handed him an enormous cash tip and booked him again for the next night, figuring that Tony’s brand of stress relief was definitely required for the entire weekend.  A late breakfast in-room, an afternoon with a massage and the hotel sauna, and – well, room service with Tony for Saturday night before any other activities that would undoubtedly de-stress Barba into needing a late check-out on Sunday, and it was entirely possible that Barba wouldn’t see even the stirrings of a migraine for months.

On the other hand, the future lack of migraines  could be assured, as well, by future bookings of the gentleman on various weekends.  He owed Dave Andrews a drink for his tip, but really, Andrews deserved having a bottle of small batch Jack Daniels sent over to the Queens DA’s office.

 

Saturday evening proved more interesting than the evening before.  Barba had ordered salmon for himself from room service, and Tony a chicken piccata that he pronounced on knowingly.  Tony had also handled the wine order, something Barba rarely allowed someone else to do, finding a choice Italian Rebolla on the list and assuring Barba – “Felipe” – that he’d adore it.  Tony was filling  Barba’s third criterion for an escort – of the ones that didn’t have to do with technical skills, which Tony also had in abundance.

Dave Andrews might have earned a half-barrel of whiskey at the rate he was going.

Especially after Tony uttered the magic words later that night, “Don’t tell the agency I was here.  I took the night off, said I had something to do.”

If the neatly arranged hundreds in the hotel envelope happened to be excessive as a tip and closer to the entire stated agency fee for Tony’s services, Barba wasn’t the slightest bit embarrassed.  If this guy wanted to go independent, Barba was game to sign on his client list.  A man who could make him see stars from a blow job was worth every single bill in that envelope.  What Barba was going to save on medications for his migraines and the stomach ulcer he was sure he was fighting off was going to make up for the cost.

That following Thursday morning, Barba looked over his calendar for the weekend.  Maybe he needed to call Manhattan Men again, and book Tony for a visit.  He normally never entertained paid guests at his apartment, but this one wouldn’t be new to him, and Barba’s gut, which was reasonably well developed after his teenage years in picking out who’d cause trouble for him and who wouldn’t, told him that he wasn’t going to lose cash, cufflinks, or other valuables from having this one over.  While he was thinking over his weekend options, Carmen buzzed him.  “Call for you, Mr. Barba.  A gentleman named Tony.  He says you know him.”

What the hell?  “Put him through.”  He switched to the open line.  “Tony?”

“Yeah.  Sorry to bother you at work and all.  I didn’t want to say it, but when we screen people – well, I did know who you are.  Look, I’m not calling to make any trouble.  I want to save you some.  Are you going to be at your office for the next couple of hours?”

“I’m not due in court until after lunch.  But I’m not sure it’s a good idea for you to come over.”

“It won’t be me.  Like I said, there’s no trouble – but expect – I’m gonna say it again, everything is okay – a detective from the 16th Precinct to stop by.  I know him.  He’s got something I think you need to hear.  Trust me on this.”  
  
“All right, I do.”  It was weird, but oddly, Barba’s radar wasn’t pinging.  He’d wait for the visit.

He was deep into reviewing a trial transcript from a rape case going on appeal when Carmen buzzed him again.  “There’s a Detective Carisi from the 16th here to see you.  He says you expect him?”

“Send him on in.”

The door opened, the hand opening it pushing it shut immediately as its owner’s other hand was held up defensively.  The hands were immediately recognizable; Barba had seen them only a few days before, had felt them over his entire body.  They were attached to Tony, who was wearing a suit again – not as nice as the ones he’d worn over the weekend – and a gold badge at his hip.  “It’s okay,” Tony said.  “Detective Dominick Carisi, Junior.  Call me Sonny.  Don’t have a heart attack – there’s no trouble, but I need to give you a heads up on a case.”

Barba stared like a deer in headlights.  “I’d waive Mirandas, but…”  Maybe he would earn that ulcer.  There was definitely going to be a migraine.

Carisi laughed gently.  “I’ve been working undercover, but I’m not in a sting.  I said you were fine.  No crimes committed by either side.”

The prosecutor raised an eyebrow.  “Sex for money is on the books, Detective.”

“Oh, you mean that stuff I didn’t take from you?  Here.”  Carisi reached in his pocket and retrieved an envelope, passing it over the desk to Barba.  Barba opened it, and thumbed through it rapidly.

“Two hundred…”

“Is in the poor box at the Catholic church around the corner from the hotel.  When I left Sunday morning, I felt guilty – not because of us, but because of what I was afraid would be coming down from this operation – so I made a donation.  And about what’s coming down – look, I’m not vice. I’m SVU.”

Barba blinked.  “Sit down, detective.  What’s SVU doing in an undercover at an escort agency?”

“Two things.  Vice is in, too, but I got dragooned for the escort part – looks, I guess, and everyone else was straight.  I was the only male detective in either unit who didn’t claim to be uncomfortable at the idea of playing the part.  But SVU wants the owner, Bert Garver, for another ring he’s running that doesn’t have a web page – underage boys.  I went in to try to find intel on the pedo ring on the Manhattan Men books.  I think I’ve found something in his private computer at their office.  We’re busting him next week.”

“And you’re suggesting I make sure I don’t take the case?”

“Yeah.  But what I also wanted to do – you’ve handled escort agency busts, right?”

“Surprisingly, no.” The prosecutor raised an eyebrow, curious at the question.   “I’ve handled more cases with streetwalkers than agencies.  Why do you ask?”

Carisi looked embarrassed.  “Client lists.  If vice looks at his computer records, and they will, your name’s on the escort agency client list.  They’re not looking for anyone to bust, but they might question people.  Look, I have to go to the Manhattan Men office tonight.  I can make your name disappear.”

Barba shook his head.  “You know I can’t ask you to do that.”  
  
“And you know I can’t let vice find an ADA’s name on an escort client list.  I mean, I know you’re never going to want to speak to me again, let alone go out with me, after all of this, but the least I can do to make good on not being a prick or having you curse my name is to make sure your name’s out of it.”

“Look, I’m not going to tell you I’m not in shock.  I obviously was not expecting this.”

“You’re not the only name I recognize on the escort list.  A couple of other cops that I hear are basically good guys, a couple of other ADAs, and… well, I’ve gotta do what I’ve gotta do.  Vice isn’t after that list, but I’ve gotta try to make sure that any unintentional fallout gets limited, just in case.  Least I can do.”

“Don’t get into heroics to save me.  It’s not worth it.  I know vice – they’ll check everything.  I just feel bad for Andrews from over in Queens.”

“Oh, ADA Andrews?  Saw his name.  I already planned to lose that one, too, before we bust Garver.  Some guy on the take – like half the vice guys I know, I swear – will think that list’s good for shaking someone down for favors.”  Carisi’s face twisted in disgust.  “There’s a lot I can do without anyone wanting TARU to check the hard drive.  But there’s guys on that client list that I know are married and in the closet, and they don’t need to be living in fear of accidentally getting caught up in a pedophile investigation.”

Barba passed a hand over his face and looked, really looked, at the SVU detective.  “You know, Carisi, you’re something.  I don’t know quite what, but you’re something.”

Carisi laughed out loud.  “So are you, counselor.  And I’m sorry about all of this.  Except for getting to meet you – but I’m sorry we wound up meeting like that, because if it weren’t what it is, I’d ask you out.  And unlike Tony, I don’t charge by the hour.”

It was Barba’s turn to laugh.  “Really?  You know, if they try to toss this case over to me, it’s a perfectly reasonable excuse to pass it over if I’m dating one of the detectives on the case.”

“We are?  Good.  Tony had a few tricks he didn’t get to show you.”

Barba smirked.  “I’m all ears.”

“Your ears were not the body parts that would be involved,” Carisi suggested slowly, his voice lowered.

“If you’re trying to convince me to have sex with you again, Detective, you should know that it’s working.”

Carisi stood.  “I need to get back to the precinct, so tell me you’re not the duty ADA this weekend.  I can tell Manhattan Men I have to go out of town on Saturday and Sunday.”

Barba stood, then moved around his desk to slide an arm around Carisi’s waist.  “I am not the duty ADA, and you’re not leaving my apartment the entire weekend.  Who’s your captain?  I’ll tell him you’re in trial prep and can’t be called out.”

“I don’t have a trial.”

“You do now.  And I have to spend the weekend prepping you by examining you very, very closely.”

Carisi leaned into Barba’s loose embrace.  For all of the activity over the preceding weekend, it was more intimate than anything else the two had done before.  “Sounds interesting, counselor.”

Barba ghosted his lips up to Carisi’s ear and then whispered gently, “Get back to your precinct before I push you over the desk right now, detective.  I think we can both survive until tomorrow night.”

“Meet you here tomorrow?  Six?”

“Here.  Six.  Get the hell out of my office.  Now.”  He watched Carisi head for the office door.  The photos on that web site really hadn’t done the man justice.  Not at all.

There wasn’t enough whiskey on the planet to thank Dave Andrews.  Carisi’s computer skills would just have to do.

 

 

  


 

 

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Best Laid Plans](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12244914) by [MJ (mjr91)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mjr91/pseuds/MJ)




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